The Perfect Picture
by Platinum Express
Summary: Sometimes, Sirius thought, you had to mix things to get them right. After all, he wouldn't have Hermione anywhere but that perfect spot of afternoon sunlight on the attic floor.


Hermione waited for Sirius to leave the house before entering the studio.

He had built the studio into the attic of his house, a smooth, creamy brownstone building, with a carefully controlled growth of ivy up one side, and a granite facade on the other. The porch was elaborate, with striped pillars and potted peonies. Hermione walked up the cobbled path, her shoes clicking against the stone, till she reached the front door and rang the bell.

An inconspicuous house elf with a broad smile opened the door.

'Hello, Stipples,' she said, trying to modulate her voice to its normal frequency. Truthfully, she felt nervous.'Can I come in?'

'Of course, Miss Hermione,' Stipples said. Her face fell for a moment. 'Mr. Sirius just went to the pork shop. Should I tell him you came.'

'I'd prefer to wait for him, Stipples,' Hermione said. She had carefully rehearsed these lines. 'I thought I'd go up to the attic and wait there.'

Stipples beamed. 'Of course, Miss Hermione. Shall I bring something up for you? Tea? Or an orange soda?'

'No, thanks,' Hermione said, quickly. 'I'll just let myself up then.'

She crossed the foyer into the living room, an elegant ensemble of chestnut marble floors, and gold trimmed banisters. The curtains were made of heavy brocade, embroidered in scarlet and gold. At the center of the room was a wrought iron staircase, twisting its way up to the second floor, and beyond to the attic, where Sirius's studio was. The route was familiar to Hermione. She had climbed up these stairs everyday for the past three weeks, ever since Sirius had asked her if she'd like to sit for him.

'Sit for you?' Hermione had asked, perplexed. 'What is that supposed to mean?'

'Well, you know I've been pretty heavily into photography for a while,' Sirius said, in an almost rueful voice. They had decided to catch up at over a cup of coffee, and were sitting in the late afternoon sun at a bistro near Hermione's office. 'I would like you to be my subject for a while. Your face has amazing planes, you know.'

Hermione's hand leapt up to her cheek consciously. 'Planes?'

'Angles. Surfaces. Your cheekbones are gorgeous,' he added, and watched as a blush spread over them. 'Come on, Hermione, say you will.'

And sitting there, in the bistro, watching the sun fall over Sirius's crop of gleaming black hair, and the fine lines around his dark eyes, Hermione had said yes. It felt like an enormous responsibility, once she had said it, as though she had agreed to marry him. Simultaneously, she became aware of something else. She was intensely attracted to Sirius Black.

The night before the first sitting, Hermione had been in an agony of indecision. What should she wear? Should she go for provocative, or elegant? Should she be flirty, or friendly? She and Sirius had never been close, she reasoned with herself, it was perfectly acceptable if she flirted with him. Ultimately, after hours of rifling through her closet, she selected an ivory satin dress with a fitted bodice, and sweetheart neckline. The skirt swelled in an elegant bubble to her knees. She set her hair in curlers so the frizz was strained out, and applied a full face of beautiful make up. When she reached Sirius's house the next afternoon, she felt beautiful and glamorous.

'You look simply awful,' Sirius said, surveying her in the foyer.

Sheer anger stopped Hermione from crying. 'What do you mean, awful?'

'I mean you look like a primped up doll. That's not why I asked you to sit for me.'

He was dressed casually in white shirt and jeans. He was, Hermione noticed, barefoot. He obviously hadn't washed his hair in a few days, because the ends were beginning to glint greasily.

'I want the real Hermione to sit for me,' he said, firmly.

'And who exactly in the real Hermione?' she challenged. His rejection of her dress had been a bitter disappointment.

'The person I see when I look at you,' he said, very seriously. 'Come upstairs. I'll fix you up.'

His idea of fixing her up was to order her to get out of her clothes. Hermione's heart had leapt with excitement, but no sooner could she had unzipped the dress than he threw her a pair of his pants. They were black, with a silver button above the fly.

'You want me to wear these?' she asked, incredulously.

'Yes.'

'But they're yours.'

'I know.'

'They won't fit me.'

'I'll get you a belt.'

Hermione bit her lip, but didn't reply, because at that moment he began to unbutton his own shirt. He tossed it to her.

'Here, put this on, with the pants. I'll go get a belt.'

It was a fiasco. The shirt was flattering, its neckline wide enough to show her prominent collar bones, and a hint of her shapely body beneath it. The pants, however, were so ridiculously large that she had to hold them up by the hips. They folded over several times at her feet, and ballooned unceremoniously around her thighs.

'I can't wear this,' she said, as Sirius returned with a black leather belt. 'I look stupid. My legs look flat, my feet are lost somewhere in those folds, and that belt- that belt has silver studs on it!'

'Put it on,' he said, 'I can see your panties.'

Hermione blushed furiously. Over all the fuss over the dress, she hadn't bothered with what went under it. She was still wearing her faded white panties with pink flowers scattered all over it.

'That belt will make me look like a drag queen,' she said, stubbornly. 'The clothes are bad enough.'

'With a face like that, you'd never look like a drag queen,' Sirius said, abruptly.

Quietly, Hermione put on the belt.

She looked and felt ridiculous. 'Is this really what you want me to wear?' she asked.

'Really and truly,' Sirius said. He was surveying her carefully, biting his lip in a distracted fashion. 'Come here,' he said, finally.

Once more her heart leapt, but this time, he merely uncapped a bottle of water beside him, and flung it on her face.

'Son on a bitch!' Hermione coughed viciously, and snorted water out of her nose. 'What the hell was that for?'

'Your face,' Sirius said, matter-of-factly. 'Too much makeup. What did you do, shovel it on?'

'Hey, that a Cosmo-approved full face of make up,' Hermione snarled. She could feel her mascara running.

'Cosmo knows nothing,' Sirius said, dismissively. 'Let me do your hair.'

He poured some more water on her head, dragging his hands through her locks, effectively destroying the curls she had carefully shaped last night. Instead, her hair soared up into a frizz and the parts in front clung in damp tendrils to her brow. Calmly, Sirius handed her a mirror. Her mascara had given her raccoon-eyes, her lipstick was smudged. She looked like a clown.

'This is what you see when you look at me?' she asked, bemused.

'Yes,' he said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the wrought iron staircase.

'What is this, exactly?' she asked, still puzzled.

'Someone confused,' Sirius said, calmly.

The attic was beautiful. Unlike the rest of the house, it had no suggestion of pomp and grandeur. It had large windows, through which fresh sunlight streamed in, orange tiled floors, and an assortment of camera equipment arranged on a table.

'This,' said Sirius, lovingly pointing to a spot on sunlight on the floor, 'Is why I asked you to come in the afternoon.'

Hermione blinked. 'The floor?'

Sirius, sighed, impatiently. 'No, you little fool. The sunlight. It's richest in the afternoon.'

Hermione had never really thought of the sunlight before. 'Really?'

'Of course. Haven't you noticed?' he asked, sounding surprised. 'In the morning, it's weakest. It's palish, almost white. That's the type of sunlight I would associate with someone like- like Luna Lovegood. In the afternoon, it's altogether different. It's richer, more mature, somehow. It has depth.'

'And you associate that with me?' Hermione asked. He didn't reply, and she didn't blame him. After all, she was blatantly fishing for compliments, and Sirius wasn't the type.

'What about the evening?' she asked, desperately trying to soften the blow of his silence. He had crossed over to the table, was fiddling with his equipment.

'The evening is two different things,' he said, absently. 'The first is the pale pinkish blue of early evening. Very soft. Gentle. Caressing. Then, later, comes sunset. That's like- like an explosion. The colors are a riot of violence. Dark pinks, navy blues, flamings reds, gold- haven't you ever seen a sunset, woman?'

'I've never paid attention.' Hermione confessed.

'You're a fool, then. It's beautiful. The shadows are too stark, though.'

'Stark?'

'Yes,' said Sirius, slipping film into his camera with deft fingers. 'The colors are too bright and too dark at the same time. I haven't had anyone sit for me in the evening, yet.'

'And if you could,' Hermione found herself asking, 'Who would it be?'

Sirius didn't have to hesitate.

'Voldemort.' he said.

* * *

After their first sitting, he had taken her down to the kitchen, and dug out food from his fridge. They stayed together till late evening, snacking on salami and cheese and pickles, Hermione still in his clothes. He told her about his photography.

'Whenever I see strong emotion,' he said, 'I want to capture it. I divide it carefully. For example, with you I see drive and ambition, and I also see awareness and consciousness. Also a certain level of maturity. That's why I associated you with the afternoon sunlight.'

'Does Luna Lovegood have strong emotion?' Hermione asked curiously.

Sirius smiled. 'You were remembering my comment from this afternoon? Yes, Luna has strong emotion of a very different quality. Her acceptance.'

'Acceptance?'

'Ahan. She's the most accepting girl I've ever met. There's something intrinsically powerful about her eyes. I must ask her to sit for me sometime.'

Hermione felt a flash of jealousy.

'You said you've never had someone sit for in the evening.' she said.

Sirius took a sip of wine, and then nodded. 'That's right. I haven't found anyone with emotions so conflicting.'

'Do you think you ever will?'

Sirius shrugged. 'Sure. Everyone has that sort of emotion deep inside. There are very few who can bring it to the surface.'

Hermione sighed and dropped her eyes.

'Lucky person who you ask to sit for you in the evening,' she said, thoughtfully.

Sirius drained his wine.

'Trust me,' he said, 'It's rarely ever a compliment.'

* * *

After that she went to his house everyday. She would get into her ridiculous outfit, and Sirius would make her sit on a white wickerwork chair and photograph her from various angles. He always made her sit in the sunlight.

'It does wonders to your colors,' he said, one day.

'What colors?' she asked, curiously.

Sirius reached forward and touched her hair. 'This,' he said, 'Is brown, most of the time. But in the afternoon sun, it gets depth. It turns chestnut. It has a bit of red in it. Do you understand?'

'Depth,' Hermione said, carefully.

'Too right,' he nodded. 'Good sunlight always brings out depth.' He paused, and then added, 'You're eyes have a bit of red in them too.'

After the sessions, they would go down to the kitchen, and Sirius would pour out the wine and bring out the salami and they would talk till late in the evening. One day, Hermione asked him, 'What about night?'

He understood immediately, without her having to explain herself.

'Light dies at night,' he said, flatly.'I never touch the camera when the sun goes down.'

Two weeks later, he still would not let her see the photographs. Although he took dozens of frames of her everyday, Hermione never saw any finished products. When she asked Sirius about it, all he said was, 'Soon.'

Soon wasn't enough for Hermione. She grew impatient. Which was why she waited for Sirius to leave the house before heading up his studio. She knew that he had gone to the pork shop, to pick up salami for their chat later in the evening. He would be at least half an hour. Plenty of time to run up and peek at the pictures.

As she mounted the wrought iron staircase, she was conscious of a deep settling somewhere in the pit of her stomach. The door to the attic was shut. Silently, she pushed it open.

Columns of afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, their lengths speckled with glowing fragments of dust. The table with Sirius's camera equipment had been covered with a red cloth. But at a far corner, she saw that a string had been hung up, and from it fresh photographs were hung up to dry.

Her heart pounding somewhere in her ribcage, Hermione walked to the photographs and surveyed them carefully.

Her first emotion was surprise. The girl in the photographs wasn't her. All she could see, at first, was flaming red hair. But then, her eyes dropped to a brow that was shaped exactly like hers, and then to a pair of eyes that were deep brown and flecked with red.

_You're eyes have a bit of red in them too._

She frowned in confusion. Her eyes. Her brow. Her nose, even, she thought, studying the graceful slope. But was that her mouth? Surely it was too plump, too pink. Hermione's mouth was not that shapely, was discolored from smoking. Her eyes were drawn to a small speck under her bottom lip, and then, she understood.

No wonder she had thought the photographs weren't entirely hers. They weren't. She might have brown eyes, with bits of red in them, and she might have a shapely nose, but she didn't have red hair, and a pink mouth, and a mole under her lip.

But Ginny did.

At that moment, a footstep sounded behind her, and she wheeled around. Sirius stood there, dressed in a black shirt and jeans, his messy, unwashed hair wreathing his face. He did not look pleased.

'What are you doing up here?' he asked, roughly.

'I wanted to see the pictures,' she said, calmly. 'You've hung them up to dry.'

'You're not supposed to look at them.'

'I sat for them, didn't I?'

'I paid you back for the sittings,' Sirius said, harshly. 'I gave you food.'

Hermione's eyes widened.'You gave me food? Are you fucking serious, Sirius? Do you think I'm starving?'

Sirius frowned. 'I talked to you,' he said. 'I spent time with you. I made you think that I liked you.'

Hermione bit down on her tongue. 'That was my reward for sitting, was it?' she asked, quietly. 'You spending time with me, pretending to like me? You were pimping yourself out to get a model?'

Sirius said nothing. He took a step forward.

Hermione gestured towards the pictures. 'This isn't just me. There's some Ginny in it, as well. You've been mixing our pictures.'

He nodded, this time proudly. 'I've overlapped them,' he said, 'And fantastically, too. It looks like one girl.'

'Why would you do that?' Hermione asked. She knew she should be feeling angry, but she just felt shocked and bewildered. 'Why would you mix us?'

'Because neither of you had exactly what I wanted,' Sirius said, calmly. 'You had the wrong hair. She had the wrong eyes. I love your eyes, Hermione. They have red in them.'

'So you told me,' Hermione said. Her voice was hoarse, raspy.

'Has Ginny been coming for sittings, too?' she asked.

He nodded. 'That's right. Early evening. The pinkish-blue light.'

Hermione nodded. She could feel the beginning of tears. 'Are you sleeping with her?' she asked.

'Yes,' said Sirius, carelessly. 'Does that bother you?'

Hermione nodded. 'It does. You're sleeping with her. You were never more than friendly with me. Why is that, Sirius? You say neither one of us had what you wanted. That's why you mixed our pictures. But you're sleeping with her, and not with me.'

Sirius gave her a strange look. 'Hermione, relationships are not a fucking photograph.' he said, roughly. 'Ginny might not have the facial features I'm looking for, but she has one hell of a body, and I love her, besides.' He pointed to himself. 'I'm the photographer, remember? I'm supposed to be the one dragging photography into my life. Not you. You're getting carried away.'

'Fuck you,' Hermione said.

To Sirius's surprise, and to her own, she had drawn her wand. Sirius opened his mouth and then closed it again.

'I said, fuck you!' Hermione snarled, this time louder. The anger came now, washing over her thoughts, numbing her grief the way cold water numbs pain. The gentle bewilderment, pathetic perplexity she had been feeling had given way to something more raw, something more gaping and clutching.

'I hate you,' she said, in a barely-controlled, trembling voice. 'I've loved you since you first asked me to sit for you, Sirius, and you've been sleeping with that whore all this time. You don't even understand how important this photograph is.'

Sirius was looking at her very strangely. Despite her drawn wand, his gaze was exploratory, searching. 'You're angry.' he said. 'You weren't a moment ago. You were just confused. Now you're fucking angry. That was fast.'

'You will take Ginny from that photograph,' Hermione said, in a low, calm voice. 'You will remove every bit of her from it. You will make that picture clean and sharp, the way it was before she came in. Do you understand me, Sirius Black?"

'Does it mean that much to you?' Sirius asked.

'It means the world to me.' she said. 'Get Ginny out of it.'

Sirius took a deep breath. He was conscious of some eternal change, as though a planet was shifting or a star was dying. There was something remarkably historical about this moment.

'Hermione,' he said, 'Will you sit for me at sunset?'


End file.
